


Father Christmas

by NotHereNJ (efficaceous)



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-16
Updated: 2020-12-16
Packaged: 2021-03-10 16:55:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,944
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28100529
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/efficaceous/pseuds/NotHereNJ
Summary: More Christmas inspired Gallavich.Back in the day, a perfect gift arrives for Ian, but it can't be from Santa, can it?
Relationships: Ian Gallagher/Mickey Milkovich
Comments: 5
Kudos: 31
Collections: Gallavich Holiday 2020





	1. Father Christmas, give us the money/Don't mess around with those silly toys (Mickey)

[ _ Father Christmas - Ok Go _ ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2FXKiPBqFto)

When Mickey was 4, he found out Santa wasn’t real. Up until that point, he’d just thought he hadn’t been good enough that year for Santa to visit their house. He’d watched the commercials and holiday movies avidly, looking for clues about the big red man who brought presents to kids all over the world. 

( _ Except the bad ones, like him _ .)

But at 5, he learned that, like the tooth fairy and the easter bunny, Santa was just a made up thing on TV. Not something real. The man in the red suit in his house screaming and throwing the carefully prepared meal at the wall, that wasn’t Santa. That was just Terry, mad at Ma again, cause the baby wouldn’t stop crying, mad cause Iggy broke his arm and needed a cast, mad cause Joey’s school had filed truant charges on him for never showing up. Terry didn’t even need a reason to yell and break shit, Mickey knew. 

The fact that Terry was dressed up as Santa wasn’t lost on Mickey, and he slowly put the pieces together. Terry had been pretending to be Santa, to get money, like the Santas outside every store with a beard, cauldron, and bell.

By 7, Mickey was also engaged in fleecing unsuspecting holiday shoppers, his light fingers doing quick work at lifting wallets, swapping empty boxes for full ones, and running away as fast as his short legs could afterwards.

Christmas break was just a series of unintermidably boring days with his father home, dirty slush on the ground, and the TV full of “seasonally appropriate” commercials for shit Mickey could never hope to see. Punctuated by moments of sheer terror, of course. His ma was gone by then, and Mandy was “his responsibility.” Mickey tried hard to keep her quiet and happy, but she was a pain in his ass, always screaming about falling down, or being cold, or hungry. Like he wasn’t, too?

The kids on Mickey’s tee-ball team had all been abuzz with talk of what they wanted for Christmas. Stupid shit, like a dvd player, or new bikes.

“I wanna little brother! Or maybe a sister, I guess.” That was king of the dumbasses, Alex. He had two parents at home and no siblings, which sounded like Mickey’s version of heaven. Why the fuck would anyone want a baby shitting their diapers all the time was a mystery. Mickey caught the eye of the other kid on the team with lots of siblings, Gallagher. He was smiling that dumb smile at Mickey, red hair sticking mostly straight up and features totally obscured by freckles. Mickey scowled at him and the smile dimmed a little.

“Legos!”

“Action figures!”

“Dinosaur books!”

_ Fuckin’ books? Really? _ Mickey didn’t say it out loud, but he thought it so hard that he was sure Gallagher had heard him, cause his head whipped around, staring at Mickey, before opening his mouth.

“Nah, I want a  [ Mark Prior Chicago Cubs Jersey ](https://cdn.shopify.com/s/files/1/2943/2878/products/image_9b9ae444-d406-4e2a-a6ea-e7710fbc3a82_740x.jpg?v=1598299767) . He’s the best-”

The rest of the team immediately chimed in, arguing over who the best Cubs player was now, and who it had been in the past, and who was good on other MLB teams, and all that crap. Mickey didn’t know, or care. He’d never watched a game with his dad on the TV, never even snuck into a stadium. Only joined this stupid team cause it kept him out of the house a little longer and Iggy said he’d handle Mandy for the few extra hours a week he was at practice and games.

Mickey wasn’t exactly a team sports kid. The coaches bugged him when they praised him, pissed him off when they criticized him, and the refs- all he wanted to do was curse them out. But so far he’d only done so under his breath.

He watched Gallagher, number 12, second base.

Gallagher wasn’t looking at him; the mean frown had done its job. But Mickey couldn’t stop watching him. It was always like this, ever since he’d joined the team. Even though Gallagher was younger than him, and dumber,  _ obviously _ , he still wanted to watch him all the time. Listen to his little kid voice and little kid ideas. That goofy, honking laugh. 

Mickey couldn’t figure out why he felt that way, why he was even still on the team. He didn’t even like playing, and practicing was lame. Finally, he’d decided it was cause he wanted to punch Gallagher’s stupid freckled face. That was always why Terry stared at Mickey, cause he wanted to hurt him, so it made sense. Though he stared at Mandy a lot too, even though he never hit her.

He shook his head, back in the present, scuffing one shoe in the frozen dirt of the field. There was a hole in the toe and his dirty white sock was showing through. 

“Ok, boys. Let’s have a quick jog around the field to warm you all up,” the coach called. He was really a history teacher, but he coached tee-ball after school for more money, Mickey guessed. Or maybe he was a pedo. 

After everyone had started jogging, Mickey reluctantly followed. This sucked, but it was still better than being at home. 


	2. We'll beat you up if you don't hand it over/We want your bread so don't make us annoyed (Ian)

[ Father Christmas - Bad Religion ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZcV3J2Feieg)

Monica was home again, and it was the best thing, like, ever. She’d just had a baby, and even if Carl didn’t do anything but poop and cry, having his mom at home was amazing. She baked cookies for them, and packed lunches every day, even if it was nothing but a leftover piece of paper wrapped in a piece of newspaper. Ian loyally ate every bite, even if the newsprint kinda came off on the cold oil of the pizza, leaving him taking huge bites out of headlines like “DALEY AND STONE UP IN ARMS OVER BUDGET WOES!”

School had let out for winter break a few days earlier, and it was Christmas morning. Ian lay in his bed in the small room he shared with Lip, thinking about presents. They had a small tree Frank had produced, and Fiona had helped him make construction paper chains to make it look cool, even if they didn’t have any lights or ornaments.

“The babies would just break them,” Fiona told him with all her thirteen year old seriousness, and he agreed. That made sense. The babies didn’t know any better; Debbie was toddling around and yanking on everything. 

Lip stirred in his sleep, and Ian peeked at his little alarm clock. 5 am. Maybe too early to go downstairs but… Monica had  _ promised  _ Santa would come in the night. She’d told him to run downstairs as soon as he woke up, so he could see all the amazing presents, with shiny wrapping paper and big bows. 

He didn’t want to disappoint his mom, so Ian swung his feet over, sitting up on his bed, bare feet dangling and cold. He pulled on a sweatshirt that was probably Lip’s, and crept quietly downstairs. The kitchen was chilly and dark. The plate he’d left a stale bologna sandwich out on was empty now, just crumbs left. That had to mean Santa’d been there, right?

In the living room though, his hopes were dashed. Maybe it was still too early? It sure didn’t look like Santa or anyone had been there in the night. Frank was asleep on the couch, snoring loudly and stinking like beer. The tree was still there, but some of his construction paper links had come apart ‘cause of the cheap glue he’d used. The sadly hanging chains looked a little like scary monster arms in the dim hallway light. 

There were no presents under the tree.

It was probably just too early, Santa hadn’t been there yet, that was all, Ian decided. Maybe if he went outside, he could catch Santa in the act, maybe get a ride to the North Pole? Ian pulled his winter coat from the hook and opened the door to the front porch. The sun wasn’t up yet, but it would be soon, he could tell. There was a broken rattan chair on the porch that no one ever sat in, and Ian thought he could sit there for a while, until he got too cold. As he went to shove some old bills off the chair, a balled up thing underneath caught his eye. Whatever the thing was, it was shoved into a paper grocery bag, smushed down, with messy writing on it.

**_Ian Galager_ **

That was  _ him _ , whatever was in the bag was for him. Carefully, Ian pulled the bag out and uncrumpled it. It wasn’t heavy, but there was definitely something in there. He upset the bag, dumping out the contents onto the dirty porch boards. At first, he couldn’t believe what he was seeing, the grey material bunched up, but when he shook it out, a huge smile lit his face.

The jersey! Santa had come, maybe he couldn’t come inside while Frank was still there, but he’d still left Ian a present. The wrapping was weird, but that was ok, Ian didn’t mind. He stripped off his coat and put on the jersey immediately, shivering a little in the cold air. It hung past his waist, which was fine, he’d grow into it soon, he was sure. 

A movement down the street caught his eye, and Ian peered at it carefully, trying to see if it was Santa or an elf.

It was neither, just a kid he knew from tee-ball, walking quickly away. Milkovich didn’t have a coat, and he looked cold, arms wrapped tightly around himself. His hair stuck up in greasy spikes, and there was dirt on the back of his neck. Ian wondered if he ever got a bath at all. He didn’t smell bad, at least. He smelled like a boy, and Ian found himself making excuses and trades to stand next to him at practice, just so he could smell him more. No one on the team minded getting further away from Mickey; everyone on the tee-ball team was afraid of him, but not Ian. He thought Mickey was nice, even if he made mean faces whenever Ian smiled at him. Mickey was also funny, with all his cursing like a grownup. 

  
  


Ian raised his hand, trying to wave, then dropped it back to this side. Mickey hadn’t turned around, and even if he had, he’d make fun of Ian for doing something as dorky as waving to him across the street. That was ok. 

He had a moment of wonder, thinking about Mickey’s christmas, what it was going to be like. He knew enough about the Milkovich’s to know there wouldn’t be any presents, but maybe there’d be food, at least. 

The cold was getting to him, so Ian picked up his discarded coat and snuck back inside. Fiona and Lip were standing in the living room, Debbie on Fiona’s hip, snuggling up to her neck. 

“Look what Santa brought me!” Ian announced proudly, turning to model the jersey. 

Fiona hitched Debbie further up on her hip and cast a worried glance at Lip, who shrugged. 

“Don’t look a gift horse in the mouth, who cares where it came from.”

“It came from Santa, Monica said he’d bring me what I really wanted ‘cause I was so good, and he did! Is she up yet?”

“Uh, Monica had to go out last night.” Fiona looked at the empty space under the tree, at Frank’s sleeping figure, and turned to the kitchen. “Let’s make breakfast, yeah? Banana pancakes ok?”

Monica didn’t come home for months that time.


End file.
